


memories of the sister

by mosaicos



Series: matsuoka [2]
Category: Free!
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-30
Updated: 2014-05-30
Packaged: 2018-01-27 03:07:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 991
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1712690
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mosaicos/pseuds/mosaicos
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She hopes, so fervently, to reconnect with her brother. To have fun with him, to see him at his happiest.</p>
            </blockquote>





	memories of the sister

**Author's Note:**

> now a side-attempt at gou's perspective in this whole......thing.... i love being introspective on gou. she's such a strong kid

There was something incredibly indescribable about living alone.

Well, she's not _really_ on her own. Her mother lives there, too, and Gou just happens to play the role of the only other tenant for their three-bedroom home. 

She can't exactly pinpoint a time in her memories when her father's laughter and heavy footsteps stopped being a constant in their home before the phantom sounds left her completely. She had nothing to add, nothing to reminisce about, as she turned the corner from her room to the stairs, heading downstairs and feeling the hard wood against her slippers. 

It's strange, she thinks constantly, most times (if not every) when she reaches the bottom of the stairs, hand on the banister and staring around her--at the emptiness sitting on the furniture, at the framed pictures of ghosts, at the souvenirs and trinkets from vacations that hold more pain than wonderful memories. 

Gou wonders if it would be easier, if the house were a little louder, a little more busy, (a little less broken). 

She can exactly pinpoint the time in her memories when her brother's laughter and heavy footsteps stopped being a constant in their home. It was the year he had left for Australia, big dreams on every breath that left his chest, smiles the ricocheted off the walls; hope that was so contagious, she too wanted to go with him. 

The first couple of weeks her brother had left, leaving just her and their mother alone, Gou thought it was exciting. It was definitely like a girls' only night--except it was every day, every minute, every shared meal. There was nothing like running around the house, feet bare, singing loudly to some annoying band's new released single, in just her shirt and panties, sharing secrets loudly with her mother (because the walls don't snitch _thank you Rin_ ), getting clothes and shoes and books and anything she wanted, all she had to do was ask! 

There was a moment when it hit her that, actually, having her feet bare while walking inside the house meant that she would take a shower and have the water run gross and murky for a bit as the filth washed away. It started to feel really dirty, to eliminate the silence with her voice, to try and find joy of something that became so broken so quickly without her noticing it.

(How long had it been broken for?)

It's not so exciting to be an only child, especially when that child's brother leaves smiling gold but returns burned out, quiet and sullen and angry. 

It's not so exciting to be an only child, especially when that child's mother worries infinitely about a son who refuses to accept defeat, peace of mind.

Everyone, _everyone_ , says Rin resembles their father a lot. It makes her burn with some angry sort of jealousy, cruel and bitter, because--though little--her memories of their father were never of him frowning nor scowling nor crying. Her memories of her father were of a man who never ceased to smile and laughed until he ran out of air and always aimed high. Rin was _nothing_ like him. (She wanted really badly to belong, too; to, instead of their mother saying how much Rin resembled their father, to be told that there was something of him in her too--that she was legitimately his daughter, too, and just as important.)

The hardest part was that she didn't understand much of her mother's or brother's thoughts. 

What used to be such an exciting prospect of adventure as a child started to become something really empty and tiresome as she grew older. She greeted her brother with a smile and enthusiasm when he flew back in from Australia every New Years, but the response was always the same: despondent. It was hard to convince herself that she should keep trying, but she would anyway. She didn't hate her brother, nor her mother, (much less her father), but between the two who would act so similarly, it was difficult for Gou to have enough smiles for the three of them.

She wonders if she's not failing her father's legacy. She's sure they all smiled and laughed and _spoke_ to each other more when he was alive. If she's his daughter, she should be able to do that too, right?

She hopes, so fervently, to reconnect with her brother. To have fun with him, to see him at his happiest. If he were to do that their mother would find solace in the fact, Gou is so sure of it.

(It's on the third summer that Rin is gone to Australia that Gou remembers, sitting up on her bed, tracing a memory with her eyes, about the swim relay in elementary school; the three boys her brother swam with, their smiles, the warmth in their embrace.)

No, her brother's laughter and heavy footsteps had stopped being a constant in their home the same day they received the news of their father's passing. The reason that relay had impacted her so much was how all that which had been lost came back to her brother; she had never seen him smile so big since the funeral. She had hoped it would become a permanent fixture, that he would come back from Australia absolutely glowing with mirth, and their mother would stop working so hard and breaking at all the things that reminded her that the man she loved was never, ever coming back.

(They had to still be there, right?)

Her father never gave up, that much she recalls. He never gave up his dreams nor believed that whatever he aimed for was impossible. Maybe that's what she needs to be -- not just smiles and chipper words, but strong and brave, stubborn in her optimism in being capable of reaching her goals.

("Mom, do you know where I can get the Iwatobi High School uniform from?")


End file.
